


Ouroboros

by likeabomb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Body Horror, Childhood Friends, Curse Breaking, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Mending Relationships, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: After being cursed for his lying and cheating, Daishou has to learn that the strength to break the cycle comes in many forms.
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Numai Kazuma
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Snake Features" for Day 2 of Nohebi Week!

“You’re captain of Nohebi, aren’t you, boy?”

Daishou hums a note of affirmation before looking up from where he’s splashing his face with water. An older woman is standing alone a few feet away, her hands behind her back. The scarf around her neck is red orange, with far too much fringe. Flicking water off his fingers, he lifts the corner of his towel off his shoulders and turns to address her fully.

“Yes? What can I do for you, obasan?”

He gives her a pleasant smile, but even for how saccharine Daishou can generally play his smiles into being, there’s a sharpness to her eyes that makes his stomach clench in a weird way. The corners of that smile drop a little. She stares up at him, small in stature.

“You are disrespecting your opponents, your teammates, and yourself.”

Daishou freezes where he stands, and his expression slips from the easy smile for this strange old woman into something tight and guarded. He tilts his head ever so slightly when he looks her over again. He doesn’t know her, so the fact she is so boldly saying something like this makes him nervous.

“Excuse me?” his brows pinch and his lips twist into a scowl.

“You heard me,” she presses, shuffling a step closer. “How often do you get caught cheating? Do you teachers trust you? Do your  _ peers _ trust you? They cheat too, but you’re their captain. Have you no honor, child?”

The audacity of this lady to come out of nowhere and harass him. What the hell is her problem?

“Why is any of that your business?” Daishou retorts, taking half a step back when she tries to take another step towards him.

“You’re a cheat and a liar, and you’re going to ruin all the good you think you’ve got with that deceit.”

His breath quickens as he takes another step back, trying to put some kind of distance between himself and this rude old woman. Inexplicably, she feels heavy and oppressive, like a force of nature bearing down on him.

“I don’t need to explain myself to some old crone.”

“All you do is lie and sneak and cheat. Lurking in the grass waiting for some hapless, innocent prey to wander by. You are a  _ snake _ , Daishou Suguru.”

The word  _ snake _ when it rolls off her tongue knocks the wind out of him. It makes his mouth dry and his heart hammer. He isn’t sure why, though, because it’s certainly not the first time someone has used the word, finding irony in his team’s theming. No, when she says it, it makes something like fear and panic well up inside him, making it tough to breathe.

And doesn’t even cover the fact she knows his name. He’s never met this woman in his life. She doesn’t stop there, though, and Daishou’s back presses against the fountain.

“Do better, or you’re going to end up a very lonely and very sad little creature, child.”

Time stretches between them, and all Daishou can manage is the shallow pant through his teeth and the tight pinch of his brows that’s already giving him a headache. He feels like he’s going to be killed.

And just as soon as she’d approached him, the woman turns, and slow and steady, shuffles down the stairs from the gym as though they hadn’t just had this incredibly rude and unnecessary conversation.

Tugging the towel off his shoulders, Daishou mutters under his breath, “Yokai granny.”

He heads back into the gym, and doesn’t make it to the door before an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion sweeps through him, dragging away all the adrenaline he’d been swimming in. It leaves him feeling cold and hollowed out, like he’s been pulled out to sea. Daishou runs a hand through his hair before rubbing his neck, drying himself off a little more before meeting back up with his still celebrating team.

By the time he’s on the bus back to the academy, he’s dragging, slow and sluggish. A few of his teammates notice, but leave him be about it. They’re just glad they won. 

The victory feels like honey turned to ash on the back of his tongue. He dozes off on the way home.

Daishou leaves without cleaning up their own gym, waving a hand in departure, and letting his underclassmen take care of tear down. Normally he would help with some of the clean up, and bully their kohai into the rest, but he doesn’t trust his knees not to give out on him with how wrung out he feels.

The walk home is a trudge, and more than once he stops on the road to look over his shoulder at the sound of shoes scuffing against the pavement.

He never sees anyone.

Skipping dinner, he collapses in his bed in his tracksuit. The zipper digs into his chest, but he’s too drained to do anything about it.

Sleep is black as ink and deep, and something echoes through his mind, reminding him of bouncing rocks down the slick walls of the well with the other neighborhood kids.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Consciousness comes with a headache splitting his skull open, fracturing his vision with spiderwebs of bright light. It’s enough to make him lurch like he might be sick at the ferocity of it so suddenly.

His sheets are damp with his cold sweat, and he can’t keep his eyes open long enough to figure out what time it is.

Is he late for school? Is he- oh, he’s going to be sick.

Scrambling across the smooth wood floors, Daishou makes it in time to bring up nothing but stomach acid, bitter and sharp and leaving his head spinning on top of splitting.

Easing himself over, he lays on the cool tile for a while, voice hoarse when he mutters to himself, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

He doesn’t feel much better by the time he stumbles back into his room, leaning heavily on the wall before sitting down on his bed. Patting around for his phone, he hisses at the brightness of it, realizing the house is still dark and quiet. He doesn’t know if he woke anyone up when he threw up, but if he did, nobody came to bother him.

Cranking the brightness down to its lowest setting, Daishou squints at his phone, flipping through a handful of messages from a few people.

**kazu-kun** **  
** **6:12pm**   
you better be dying   
your kohai are worried

**kouji-kun  
** **7:34pm  
** ive never met somebody who died   
rip su-kun

**isu-kun  
7:48pm  
** don't bring the plague back if you're sick

Daishou locks his phone and shoves it under his pillow to rub at his eyes, pressing against them with his thumbs to try to- he doesn’t know- anything at this point. His sinuses feel packed to bursting, but he can breathe through his nose fine. His skin itches. It feels like everything’s on fire and too sensitive for the air around him, let alone the clothes that hang heavy off his frame.

His hands are shaking by the time he gets himself out of his track jacket and pants and buries himself in blankets again. He stares out of the little mound of blankets at his snake’s tank across from his bed. She’s sleeping soundly where she likes it best.

Laying in the near dark, he mutters quiet desperate curses until sleep drags him under again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When he wakes next, there’s a shine of sunlight through his closed blinds, setting fire to his room in little strips.

He feels about the same as he did, but less like he’ll be sick this time. He’s still covered in a cold sweat. He’s going to need a shower before school.

Smoothing his hand under his pillow, Daishou finds his phone and unlocks it to see the time.

12:23pm.

It’s past noon.

A thought goes to his family. His sister always leaves before he does, and his parents are usually in too much of a rush to have noticed his shoes still on the rack by the door.

Several more messages from the team ask where he is.

**mika-chan  
** **7:11am  
** Numa-kun said you weren’t feeling well yesterday.   
Are you sick, Sukkun?

**kazu-kun** **  
** **7:13am**   
if you need me to drop off anything just text me

**mika-chan** **  
** **10:03am**   
Make sure to drink some water!

**yoshi-kun  
** 10:09am  
If you show up for practice after school don’t get caught.

Brows pinching tight, his throat pulls tight for some reason, and Daishou struggles to swallow. He rubs at his eyes hard and his fingers come away wet.

He shoves his phone away again, curling up. He’s too tired, and in too much pain, to actually deal with this. Or anything.

He should shower. He should eat. He should answer his team and Mika.

Instead, he shakes apart in his bed, desperate for some kind of relief.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Claws of hunger wake him again, and even though his head pounds, Daishou sits up. His mouth feels like sandpaper. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he looks to see Nori lift her head, her gold eyes staring at him from inside her tank. He doesn’t know how long he stares back at her, but when he finally breaks the gaze, he clutches his chest with a shaking gasp. Leaning forward, he puts his head low, not quite between his knees, but enough it stops the lash of nausea climbing his throat.

Stumbling through the house, Daishou ends up standing in front of the fridge, the glow of it washing over his face. He wonders idly if he looks as bad as he feels. 

The house is still quiet, and the clock on the stove reads 2:42pm. If he leaves now, he might be able to make it to practice. If he’s sneaky about it.

Daishou lets the fridge close and doubles back for his tracksuit, pushing through the fog and pain. 

He can’t leave his team like this. They have a lot of work left to do, still, and with the year having just started, he can’t leave them blowing in the wind.

He grabs a peach from the bowl on the counter on the way out the door. It tastes bitter on his walk, but he eats it anyway, ravenous after getting  _ something _ in his system.

Tossing the pit off into the brush, Daishou can hear the starting warm up, led by Takachiho. He remembers to try to be careful about coming into practice after missing classes, and sweeps around the opposite side of the building where he’s much less likely to be spotted by students still leaving the grounds, or worse, one of the faculty. Their faculty advisor doesn’t come around often, so he just has to worry about the coach. 

Coach Oumizu can be a hardass sometimes, but the team knows he cares about each of them and their improvement as individuals. He thinks their playstyle is unconventional but effective, and supports them riling up the other team, even going so far as to call out to the other coaches.

Leaning against the doorway, peeking into the gym, it’s Numai who spots him first, staring for a moment before calling, “Captain.”

Daishou lifts a hand in greeting when the rest of the team turns to look, crowding up quickly.

“You look like shit, Daishou-san.”

“I told you not to bring back the plague.”

“You skipped all your classes but still came to practice?”

Everything has a weird kind of glow to it that Daishou doesn’t particularly like, but he waves a hand, trying to form some kind of explanation.

“Yeah, sorry I bailed. You had it handled, though.” He blinks a little, trying to clear his vision.

“You’ve been acting really weird since the game yesterday. Are you sure you’re alright?”

The sea of faces and voices don’t make it easy to pinpoint who even asks.

“Some old yokai granny outside the gym got in my face. Probably got me sick or something.”

Hiroo’s hand settles on his shoulders and where he touches feels like fire, the weight of it pressing his shirt into his skin in a way that makes his mind flood with some unholy screeching. He shrugs it off gently.

“Demon grandma disease. I can see the wrinkles forming already,” Sakishima teases, his face swimming into view in front of the others.

“He’s gonna pass out,” Numai warns.

Daishou’s eyes roll and he crumples into a heap.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This empty black unconsciousness and sudden painful wakefulness is getting old. Frankly, Daishou’s sick of it already. This time, there’s a rocking, rhythmic feeling, jostling him. It’s almost gentle, but it’s there.

He realizes a little at a time he’s being carried. He can hear the shuffle of shoes on the pavement, the swish of fabric. The warm heft of someone’s arms and chest. He didn’t think he was even a size to be carried anymore, but his arms hang limp on either side of sturdy shoulders. His cheek is squashed and he sighs into a jacket collar.

“Don’t squirm.”

“Kazuma,” Daishou breathes, relief flooding him.

“You’re a colossal trainwreck, you know that?” His chiding doesn’t have near enough bite to it to counter the fact he’s carrying Daishou home, if he had to guess.

“You’d never believe how often I hear that.”

“Probably because it’s true,” Numai clicks his tongue.

“Put me down, this is pathetic,” Daishou whines. The whine is more pathetic than being carried.

Slowing to a stop, Numai eases him to the ground, hands firm on him to make sure he doesn’t fall over. Daishou holds a hand to his head, the other holding Numai’s jacket.

“What happened?”

“How am I supposed to know? You said something about a demon granny and hit the floor.”

Taking his hands back carefully, his posture is stiff. He’s alert, and Daishou knows it’s so that if he goes again, Numai will be ready to catch him. To put them both at ease, he keeps the one handed grip on the sleeve of his jacket.

“I mean, that happened,” Daishou hisses, squinting at the street around them. Numai knows the way, so he trusts his lead. “After our game yesterday, some old woman came up to me and said some- I don’t know, some shit about being a cheater. Called me a snake. Which,” he huffs a laugh, “is funny.”

“Ironic, but still, interesting choice of words.”

“I felt tired after she left, slept on the bus-”

“And went straight home?”

Looking up at him, Daishou’s brows knit and he nods once, “Yeah, didn’t even eat. Just went to bed. I threw up last night from just- everything hurts.”

“Right now?” Numai puts a hand on his back, the edges of concern in his voice.

“Yeah. It hasn’t stopped. It’s everything, my skin feels like it’s on fire. My head is splitting. I think my sinuses are swollen?” Daishou rubs at one of his eyes, the pressure in his head making them ache. “Colors and lights and everything swimming- I don’t know, Kazuma, it’s disorienting as fuck.”

Numai slows them to a stop and hums, “You want me to come in?”

It takes a full few breaths for Daishou to realize they’re at his house. He pats his pockets before he finds his keys, and before he has the chance, Numai takes them from his shaking hand.

The house is quiet, and Numai turns his head to listen, but realizes it too. Daishou had only been gone a little while, so he’s not surprised no one’s home yet. His sister is probably still in class, and his parents at work. Shutting the door behind them and pushing off his shoes, Numai pads into the house like he owns the place.

Daishou and Numai have been friends since they were kids, so it’s no surprise that Numai is so comfortable in such personal space. And to have carried him most of the way home. 

Running fingers through his hair, Daishou follows Numai into the house and heads up the stairs to the bathroom. It takes him a while on unsteady legs, but he makes it, and leans over the sink to splash his face with water. He sits himself down on the toilets with a towel to just breathe. The stairs winded him.

“Suguru, do you need… help? This seems pretty serious.”

Peeking out of the fluffy towel, Daishou doesn’t get a clear look at his face before he has to close his eyes at the light. The fluorescents make everything wobble.

Numai’s knees pop when he squats down, and pulls the towel a little to use a corner of it to wipe water off Daishou’s throat, under his ear. Blocking his face from most of the light, Daishou looks at him again. Whatever twist his expression has taken puts a furrow in Numai’s brows.

“I can take you into the clinic.”

Daishou heaves a laugh, “It can’t be that bad- you make me sound pitiful.”

“You passed out. Your eyes aren’t really focusing. You said you puked. What do you expect me to think?” Numai scolds, lips tugging in a scowl. He lifts a hand to tilt Daishou’s chin a little before it gets tugged away. The sudden movement makes Daishou’s breath hitch. “See?”

“It’s fine, Kazuma.” He waves his hands off before getting up, leaving the towel half hanging off the sink.

Numai doesn’t follow immediately, but he does hear him in the doorway to the bedroom after a few moments.

He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a tension between them.

When Daishou half turns to look at him, Numai is flexing and unflexing the hand that isn’t on the door casing.

Sighing a soft huff, Daishou shrugs his jacket off, “If you’re staying, shut the door. It’s too bright.”

The windows in the hallway just add to the light he can’t quite block in his own room, and it’s all just too much for him right now. He kicks off his track pants and that’s all his legs will take before they give out and he plops down onto his bed.

Easing his head down again, the bed dips and Numai’s weight settles in next to his. A big hand smooths up and down his back.

“You used to say every single stupid thing that came to your mind- you were so annoying,” Daishou mutters.

“Yeah, well, you got real good at being annoying, so I let you have the title.”

He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. This moment would be nice after a few years of their relationship straining and straining as it has been, if not for the fact Daishou isn’t really sure if he’s going to die or not. It might be dramatic, but it feels all too possible, even if he won’t say that outright.

“Why’d you bring me home, Kazuma?” Daishou asks, not lifting his head.

The hand on his back doesn’t slow or stop its comforting drag along his spine.

“Don’t start,” Numai warns, reaching to push his hair off his forehead so he can feel. “You might have a fever. Have you eaten?”

“I had a peach on the walk over.”

“Water?”

“Kazuuu-”

“Don’t give me that. Stop being a brat.” Numai’s hand moved, and Daishou’s face scrunched, expecting a flick to the ear. But it doesn’t come. He’s taking pity on him for being an absolute trainwreck. Daishou hates it.

“You’re really sick, stupid. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m tired. And having my eyes open hurts, let alone everything else. Your hand on my back feels like it’s on fire.”

Lifting his hand slowly, carefully, Numai stands up. “I’m gonna get you some water, at least.”

“You’re digging your own grave if this shit is contagious,” Daishou warns.

He doesn’t see, but Numai rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Suguru. Water. And then some more sleep.”

As much as he’d like to protest, more rest doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. His brows pinch as he peeks an eye, watching Numai leave the room. He doesn’t move, because if he does, he’ll have to move back when he brings up water, and Daishou knows he will, and he simply doesn’t want to have to move twice.

Nori is sitting in a different spot in her cage, in the tree branches and leaves that climb the height of the tank. Daishou watches her until she turns her head and stares at him. He’s never thought she was creepy or weird- he loves his snake. He’s had her since he was twelve. But the shine of her eyes, and the depth of her ink black pupils that seem to bore into him, pin him in place.

Numai comes back with a tap of two knuckles on the door to announce himself. Only then does Daishou look away from Nori’s piercing gaze.

Sure enough, he offers out a glass of water.

“How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while. Not since you sent pictures when she came out of hibernation.” Numai leans to peek into the tank, and Nori shifts to watch him instead of Daishou.

“She’s fine,” Daishou hums, sipping the water. It’s cold. “She’s a rat snake. They’re not that exciting.”

“You love her to death, don’t be nonchalant.”

“Yeah, well, she’s still just a snake. It’s not like she’s a puppy who knows how to fetch, or a cat who tears up the couch. She just hangs out.”

“She’s the most curious critter I’ve ever seen,” Numai hums, a smile pulling at his lips. “Like she’s studying everyone and everything.”

Daishou doesn’t answer that, but Numai’s right. She’s always had watchful eyes. It’s part of why he loves her so much. He really does feel like she enjoys his company.

He manages to get through half the glass before it’s just too much work lifting his hand to his mouth, and sets it aside. Numai finally looks at him. Nori had been a distraction for him, Daishou sees.

The two stare at each other for a few long moments, not unlike Daishou staring at Nori. Tension builds, slowly, steadily, like the ticking of a clock. Every breath is closer to something spilling.

Eventually the pain in Daishou’s head is too much, and he breaks their gaze first, closing his eyes. He shifts on his bed, pushing and tugging at his blankets until he can curl up under them, facing the wall. When he reaches a hand out, it’s cool to the touch, and helps ease him a little.

The bed dips, and he draws a breath. He almost turns, but Numai puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him still before tucking himself in behind him on the bed. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Daishou. And thankfully, he doesn’t resume his touching, even if it really had been comforting, it hurts too much to withstand. It would only keep him awake.

Daishou slips under, but this time it’s less of a gut flinging drop into a deep dark lake, and more a slow wade. Still into a deep dark lake, but... it’s easier.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What do you think would happen if someone went down there?” Bokuto asks, peering over the edge.

“What do you think’s down there?” Numai asks, stepping up to peek too. It’s a genuine question about what Bokuto thinks might be down there rather than mocking him for being dumb.

Daishou would have mocked him for being dumb.

“I don’t know. Tunnels, a city- there could be lots of things!” Bokuto looks up at Kuroo with big, shining eyes.

“I don’t think so,” Kuroo hums, pushing himself up closer to look. Kuroo’s smart, he would know how this kind of thing works. “It’s just a big hole with water in it.”

“Where does the water come from?”

“The ground.”

Bokuto gives him a skeptical look, “But it’s the ground.”

“Yeah, there’s water in the ground.”

He still doesn’t seem convinced, and Daishou doesn’t blame him. It doesn’t really add up.

On the opposite side of the well as the three clustered up on their toes to look over and into the deep chasm below, Daishou drops a rock, close to the side of the well, and listens to it skitter and bounce off he stone walls before eventually breaking the surface of the water below with a little plonk that echoes back up. A bigger rock would have made more noise.

The three of his friends' eyes light up, sparking as they scramble around for things to throw in the well too.

They take turns seeing what makes what kind of noise, and who can make the most noise with their thrown item.

When they’ve had their fill of that, though, they start to head back out in search of something else to get up to.

Daishou brings up the rear, lips in a little pout. He started a game, and now the game’s over, and that’s disappointing.

A noise from the well makes him turn, brows pressed. The other three don’t notice immediately that he’s stopped walking, and are instead talking about getting some ice cream from the shop. Daishou watches the well with a skeptical eye. When he takes a step back towards it to see if he might figure out what the noise was, it happens again.

It’s like a dragging sound, against the stones that line the inside of the well, echoing up to spill out the top.

Daishou’s next step is more hesitant.

Is there really something in the well? Was Bokuto right? Did they wake up some monster while they were playing around?

He turns to try to get the attention of his friends, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The path down to the road is empty, and the air is still. They couldn’t have really gotten that far without him noticing.

“Real funny, guys!” Daishou calls. The upset and fear is clear in his voice.

The sound echoes again, a harsh scraping sound. Goosebumps rattle through him and his ears and fingers and nose feel too cold for the early fall weather.

When he looks back at the well, his eyes widen and his breath catches.

Coming up and out of it, over the uneven old stones, is an enormous snake head. It’s almost as big as the well’s opening is wide, and it’s certainly bigger than Daishou is. 

He feels rooted to the spot.

He’s breathing too fast. 

It climbs farther, coming out of the well, circling it. It’s as big around as a tree.

Tears prickle, hot in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

When it sees him standing alone on the little worn path, it lifts its head and Daishou’s feet come unstuck from the ground, only for him to fall back on his butt in the dirt.

It opens its mouth above him and those frightened tears  _ do _ spill over, tracking hot fear down his face. Daishou sees the glistening fangs, and the maw that just seems to go on and on forever.

When it lunges at him, he finds voice enough to scream.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Waking with a start, the first thing Daishou realizes is Numai’s arm is slung over his ribs.

He pushes it off, disgusted at the fact he’s sweating like a stuck pig. How Numai put up with that is beyond him.

His head is pounding worse than ever, and without the weight of his friend’s arm on him, the nausea creeps up his throat. Daishou worms his way out of the bed, half climbing over Numai to do so. He leaves the door open a crack before darting across the hall to the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him.

Pushing his hair back, it’s slick with sweat too, and Daishou leans against the sink, trying to figure out if he really is going to puke again or not. The lights are still off, and the cool porcelain under his hands is comforting. He breathes in deep gulps to try to force the feeling down. It radiates out from his head, his sinuses, down his spine, and buries itself like thorns in his gut.

Maybe Numai hadn’t been wrong about going to the clinic.

Daishou hates doctors, though, and if he can avoid them, he will.

The initial wave passes, and he sits down on the floor, tucked against the wall of their stand shower.

A gentle wrap of two knuckles against the door makes him lift his head.

“Suguru?” Numai calls gently.

Daishou realizes he doesn’t know what time it is, even.

“Are you alright?” he calls again, after a moment of silence.

“I’m fine,” he answers, but the shake in his voice gives more away than he wants.

“Do you want me to call someone?” Numai calls again, even as it’s clear he’s trying to keep his voice down. It must be late in the night.

“No,” Daishou groans, running fingers through his hair again, “It’s  _ fine _ , Kazuma.”

Numai heaves a sigh but goes quiet. Daishou doesn’t think he’s left the doorway, though.

The motion of swallowing hard squishes his tongue against the roof of his mouth and he realizes something feels different. He runs his tongue over his palette again but it takes sticking his fingers in his mouth to feel. He wishes he could remember where the body’s lymph nodes were. He’s pretty sure there’s some in the mouth, right? He’s probably just sick.

Pressing on the little lumps on the roof of his mouth, pain sparks through his mouth and up behind his eyes when the pressure of his fingers punctures one of the lumps. Something wet and foul tasting drains into his mouth and he spits it out across the tile, nausea roiling again.

Something shifts in a place he just can’t wrap his head around and when he opens his mouth to try to press fingers back in to investigate, despite how his hands shake, there’s a tug, a slide, and he feels something  _ hard _ push through the roof of his mouth.

Between the pain and the confusion, tears spring to his eyes and he breathes hard through his nose.

He runs a finger along the protrusion. It’s curved, and he realizes very quickly the tip is sharp-

Blood wells up in a dot on his fingertip.

Daishou closes his mouth, and it slides backwards. He can feel it, a sensation around his sinuses. But half the pressure is off, and only one side of his head feels like it may crack open like an egg.

“What’s the noise- Kazu-kun?”

Freezing on the bathroom floor, Daishou hears his mother’s voice outside the door.

Numai answers her, “Oh, hello obasan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing here, kiddo?” She asks, and there’s a lilt to her tone that says things she doesn’t voice, that it’s been a long time since she saw Numai.

“Sukkun was sick at practice, so I brought him home and stayed to keep an eye on him.”

“He  _ has  _ been sleeping a lot the last few days.” There is a firmer knock to the door before Daishou’s mother calls, “Suguru, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he manages. “I’m fine.”

Silence.

Opening and closing his mouth makes the pressure in his head rattle his brain. Or that’s what it feels like, at least. When he opens his mouth once more, the other side punctures through, without the aid of his finger, and the same foul tasting liquid drains into his mouth. He scrambles to spit it into the sink, cringing at the taste.

His finger isn’t bleeding anymore, and what he spit out wasn’t bloody, so there’s that at least?

He hears his mother’s door again, but not his own door. Numai must still be in the hall. What a pain in the ass.

Finally, Daishou looks up at the mirror. Even in the dark, he can see enough of his own reflection from the little night light plugged in by the side of the mirror.

With shaking hands clutching tight to the sides of the sink, Daishou opens his mouth.

Two fangs curve from the two holes now punctured in the roof of his mouth. With his mouth fully open, jaw wide, they reach down and out of his mouth. There’s a hair's breadth between them, and his actual teeth. His breath comes in hard bursts, and he can distinctly feel the rush of each exhale against them. When he closes his mouth, they pull back, gliding smoothly away, far enough so that with his teeth clamped shut, he can run his tongue over the roof of his mouth and not feel them, or any evidence they’re there.

He opens his mouth just enough a second time to see the wet glint of them in the shadow behind his teeth and he covers his mouth with both hands, jamming his eyes shut.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What the fuck is happening to him?!

“Daishou?”

His eyes whip to the door, then to the lock, and relief floods him. He swallows hard.

“It’s alright, Kazuma, I’m just- I’m gonna wash my hands and I’ll be out, alright? It’s fine.”

It’s not fine.

Nothing’s fine.

Nothing’s going to be fine ever again.

What the hell does he do now?!

Daishou steels himself, trying to steady his breathing. His eyes are red and puffy from the scared, panicked tears he’d shed, and he does what he said he’d do. He washes his hand, and the spot on the floor where he’d spit whatever that shit was, and then he splashes his face with water.

Combing wet fingers through his hair helps him feel less like a sweaty, sticky mess.

It doesn’t do much to help with the absolute horror of whatever’s happening to his body, but at least his headache is gone.

When he opens the door, Numai’s back is to the wall beside the door, and he shoulders himself away from it to look Daishou over.

Giving him a little smirk, he shrugs a shoulder, “Whatever it was, it’s fine now. Probably just one of those, you know, overnight bugs. I’m good.”

Numai doesn’t look nearly convinced.

Daishou reaches to pat his shoulder, and hopes Numai doesn’t notice how unsteady he still feels.

Sitting down on his bed again, he looks everything over before quirking a brow, “Did you really just curl up in my bed with me?”

“Cut me some slack, you brat, you were sick. You looked like you needed a friend.

Huffing a soft laugh, Daishou tilts his head a little, “We’re friends again?”

Numai can’t keep eye contact with him, and finds something interesting in the plush carpet, “We never  _ stopped _ being friends, Suguru.”

“Oh come on, Kazuma, you’ve been standoffish for the last two years.”

Now really isn’t the time to get into something like this, Daishou knows, but between the relief of his head no longer feeling like it’s going to split open, and how shaken he feels from the fever dream, the fact that Numai is being so open and vulnerable freaks him out. It’s not like he’d been  _ dying. _

He still can’t say that with much certainty considering when he speaks he can feel the subtle glide of the fangs in his mouth.

They’d been friends for years as children, and spent more than their fair share of days laying in the grass or climbing trees or sharing ice cream. With or without some of the other neighborhood kids.

Daishou had been convinced that he’d burned all his bridges, but Numai had been one of the very few who’d actually wished him well on his birthday, no matter how distant he’d become lately. He figured it was just… a matter of time. He’d stopped being on good terms with people like Kuroo and Bokuto, so Numai was bound to get whatever memo they’d gotten. 

And now he was curled up in Daishou’s bed looking after him while he’s sick?

It makes something twist in his belly that he doesn’t have words for, which in turn, makes him lash out in ways he knows he probably shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Looking up at him, Daishou rubs the back of his neck, unimpressed to find he still has the tack of sweat there. He needs a shower.

“I’m fine, Numai. Honest. Look at me.”

Finally lifting his eyes, Numai’s expression is tight. Daishou’s brows are high, expecting him to answer with  _ something _ positive.

“You look a little less green, at least.” He offers the back of his hand to check for a fever before Daishou waves it off. “Don’t be a pain in the ass, Suguru. You really scared the team.”

“It wasn’t that bad-”

“You collapsed in the gym. You almost cracked your head open.”

Shaking his head a little, Daishou breaks the eye contact, jaw tight. He hated feeling vulnerable like this, and knowing the entire team had seen him in one of his weakest moments makes him feel sick. How are they going to respect him and his leadership if they think he’s some fainting priss?

“Just… take it easy, alright? This- all of it- it’s not like you. You hardly ever get sick.” Numai knows his stuff. That pisses Daishou off too. How long hs he been growing distant but still paying attention?

He squirms under the ace’s eye.

“Are you staying til morning, or walking home in the dark?” Daishou asks, changing the subject.

“I’m staying. Even if you’re gonna be a brat, I’m gonna make sure you’re  _ actually  _ alright.”

Daishou’s not alright.

He has fangs, actual bones, slid up somewhere inside his skull.

He doesn’t even know where to start, or how to deal with this. What would Numai do if he found out? Would he insist he sees a doctor? What would the doctor do?

Could he just yank them out himself? What are they connected to? It has to be some kind of muscle with his jaw if they move when he moves his jaw-

Daishou puts his head in his hands, heaving a sigh as he tugs at his hair.

“Do whatever you want, Numai.”

It comes off harsher than he wants, and he rolls over to bury himself back in his blankets, scrunching his nose at the embarrassing scent of old sweat.

Numai doesn’t say anything, but Daishou feels the way the bed shifts when he lays back down. The stubborn asshole even puts his arm over Daishou.

He pretends not to notice when Numai brushes a lock of hair off his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, be sure to leave kudos and comments, or hit me up on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/likeabomb_)!  
> I love talking these stories out!


End file.
